The Rose's Crimson Hue Poem by EMMANUEL GIWA-ALADE

At every whisper of your name,
My heart skips a beat, in sorrow's frame.
For my heart breaks, in strata deep,
Tendrils of pain my soul do keep.

Like a broken wall, once whole and strong,
Now shattered, with holes that last long.
The sizes of the holes tell the tale,
Of love's fierce battle, and heart's frail.

I watch through the window, as rain pours down,
As if nature weeps for our lost crown.
A white rose once, now crimson-hued,
Your touch, a whispered promise, now subdued.

Your gentle touch, a piercing blade,
Cut through my heart, with love's sharp shade.
I thought it magical, the rose's swift change,
But didn't realize I bled from love's range.

Until I felt the sting of your gentle hand,
With the rose's white petals, dyed in my pain's stand.
Now crimson-hued, the rose remains,
A symbol of love's sweet, yet piercing pains.